


Blankets

by SailorChibi



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Hopeful Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, May Parker finds out, Peter Parker Angst, Peter Parker Gets a Hug, Peter Parker Has Nightmares, Peter Parker Has Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Tony Stark, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, References to past trauma, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, protective may parker, worst bonding experience ever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-10-25 00:34:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20715158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorChibi/pseuds/SailorChibi
Summary: When a sex video of Spider-Man and an unknown woman goes live, it's the talk of New York. There's just one problem. The person behind Spider-Man's mask didn't consent. Now Peter Parker is quietly falling apart.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I came up with this story out of the blue and someone was kind enough to commission me for it. I think it's important to highlight that men can be raped too, and that it's not always easy to get the help you need. May we all have a Tony Stark in our lives to make that difference when we need it.

The video hits YouTube before Spider-Man even escapes. By the time he makes it home to his apartment, dizzy and woozy, it’s been viewed over half a million times. By the time he’s thrown up and climbed into the shower to scrub himself multiple times, the news stations have picked up on it, the YouTube views are up over two million, and #SPIDERMANSEXTAPE is trending on Twitter. 

Part of Peter really doesn’t want to watch the video, but he finds himself watching it anyway from beneath the covers on his bed, shaking from head to toe. He needs to know what everyone else can see. And it turns out that what they can see is Spider-Man tied down while a pretty naked woman climbs on top of him; they have sex, during which she moans a lot and rubs her breasts and smiles sexily at the video. At the end, she breathily thanks Spider-Man and then unties him. 

Peter remembers that, the feeling of his wrists suddenly being free. He didn’t jump up off the bed because the drugs they’d hit him with were still going strong. Because of that, the video makes it look like compliance, makes it look like he _wanted_ it, because everyone’s seen Spider-Man punch through metal no problem. Of course, flimsy metal chains couldn’t hold him down until he wanted them to, and, since the woman never once tries to unmask him, no one can see his dilated pupils, flushed skin, or dazed expression.

He’s not even sure how he got home. He thinks KAREN might’ve brought him back, but maybe not. There’s something wrong with his suit. They short-circuited it somehow. He remembers crying for KAREN to help him and the swooping, hot disappointment when she didn’t answer. He remembers begging Iron Man to save him, and the heavy realization that no one knew where he was. He remembers the hot, wet feel of that woman on top of him and throws up again.

He doesn’t sleep much that night. Can’t. Closing his eyes takes him right back to that bed, and he swears he can feel her hands on him. The thought makes him shudder uncontrollably. He’s tempted to go take another shower, except when he looks over at the clock, he sees that it’s somehow jumped to 7:30am and that means Aunt May will be up. She’ll wonder why he’s showering this early and he – he _really_ doesn’t want her to know.

As though summoned by thought alone, Aunt May knocks at his door and calls out, “Peter. Come on, you’re going to be late.”

School, Peter realizes slowly. He’ll be late for school. The thought of going turns his stomach. Like, to the point where he tastes bile and has to swallow hard before he vomits all over his bed. He just can’t fathom facing MJ and Ned and trying to act normal. If Flash tries to grab and punch him today, there is no question that Peter will put him through the nearest wall. He can’t.

“Aunt May, I’m not feeling well,” he says lowly. But she must be listening because she opens the door and pokes her head in.

“Oh honey,” she says, and he must look awful indeed because she doesn’t even tell him that if he stays home, he’s not allowed to play video games with Ned tonight. She comes over and reaches out, probably intending to put her hand on his forehead.

Peter flinches away. Then freezes.

Aunt May cocks her head with a peculiar expression. He’s never pulled away from her before, not since the day that she and Uncle Ben officially adopted him. Peter knows in that moment that he’s fucked up, because now she _knows_ that something is wrong. Yet he feels frozen with panic, unable to think of anything to resolve the situation before her suspicions deepen too much.

In the end, Aunt May breaks the silence by saying, “You look sweaty and flushed. Don’t tell me you’ve caught the flu. I told you to get your flu shot.”

“I forgot,” Peter mumbles into his knees. Another lie on top of the mountain he’s already told her; he can’t get the flu shot anymore. It doesn’t work on him. His physiology has changed too much. He’s not even sure how they got the drugs to work on him –

“Right,” Aunt May says. “Well… I really can’t miss another shift at work, but…”

“It’s fine,” Peter says quickly.

“Are you sure?” she asks. The genuine concern in her face makes him hurt for different reasons. He can’t bring himself to smile. Can’t bring himself to be touched by a woman right now. Just nods, licks too-dry lips, and forces himself to speak.

“I’m just gonna sleep,” he lies, and it tastes like ashes.

“Okay. I’ll call you at lunch to see how you’re doing. I’ll keep my cell phone on me, so if you need me just text,” Aunt May says. She lingers for a moment longer, frowning at him like there’s something else she wants to say or do – but in the end she says nothing, just pats the bed and leaves. 

The apartment feels eerily quiet after her departure. His stomach growls, and, although he doesn’t feel like eating, Peter forces himself off the bed. His metabolism can’t go long without food. Last time he waited too long, he passed out and almost gave Aunt May a heart attack. He keeps the covers wrapped around him and slowly shuffles out to the kitchen.

There’s some bread in the drawer. Peter eats just enough to make his stomach quiet down and then looks around. Even though it looks the same, the apartment _feels_ different. He’s suddenly very aware of the multitude of windows. He thinks, but can’t prove for sure, that those people have no idea who he is. Maybe they looked under the mask while he was unconscious. Maybe they’re gonna show up and do the same thing again…

Peter just about comes out of his skin when there’s a knock at the door. Panic laces through him and he recoils, clutching at the blankets like they’re some kind of protection and not something that can be easily torn off. Blindly, he feels around on the counter behind him until his sweaty hands find a knife. He holds it up, belatedly realizes it’s trembling – and then realizes that no, it’s his hand that’s trembling.

“Kid? It’s me. It’s Tony. Can you open the door? Are you okay?”

The legitimate concern in Tony’s voice makes Peter inch a little closer to the door. He cried for Iron Man last night. Iron Man is here _now_. What if it’s a trick?

“Peter? Come on. Don’t make me crawl through your bedroom window again. I hate doing that. Last time the cops almost arrested me.” There’s a forced lightheartedness to the words.

Only one person would know about that. At the time it was hilarious, but at Tony’s request Peter hadn’t even told Ned about it. Peter drops the knife and fumbles with the lock on the door, finally getting it open. The door opens immediately from the other side. Tony is standing there, wearing a blazer over a grease-stained tank top. He slowly pulls his sunglasses down as he takes in Peter’s appearance and the knife on the floor in one fell swoop.

“Oh, Pete,” he breathes. “Shit, Pete.” He starts to reach out and then hesitates, like it just then occurs to him that Peter might not want to be touched, half-open arms slowly falling back to his sides.

“You saw the video,” Peter says. There’s an odd pressure building up in his chest, like a balloon that’s being forced full of air… too much air.

Tony visibly swallows. “I saw.”

And that makes Tony the only person who realizes that it was _Peter_. A sickly combination of shame and anger rushes through Peter. Part of him wants to demand that Tony leave and slam the door behind him, but there’s another, bigger part that just wants to sink in Tony’s arms and bawl like a five-year-old that’s just skinned their knee. Ultimately, the latter is what wins out.

Peter’s not sure how it happens, though. One moment he’s standing about five feet away and the next he’s barreling into Tony with enough force to send Tony staggering back against the doorframe with a startled curse. Tony’s quick though; he gets his arms up and around Peter before Peter even has the chance to think about second-guessing himself, one arm around Peter’s waist and the other coming up to cup the back of Peter’s head.

“I’m sorry, Peter, I’m so sorry,” Tony says over and over again.

“I didn’t want it,” Peter sobs, clutching at Tony’s shirt.

“I know you didn’t. I know,” Tony whispers. He half-lifts Peter and gets them a little farther into the apartment, kicking the door shut behind them. Somehow, he manhandles them both over to the couch and gets them sitting beside each other.

Peter cries until his head aches and his eyes are hot and his nose is running. Tony never lets up, even though Peter’s probably ruining his jacket. When he can’t cry anymore, like a sponge wrung dry, he lays there limply in Tony’s arms and still Tony doesn’t let go. His presence is comforting; Peter’s old enough to know better, but it doesn’t stop him from convincing himself that nothing bad can happen when Tony is there.

“I don’t know what happened,” he says dully, voice hoarse. 

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Tony says quietly. And Peter doesn’t want to, not really, but he also finds himself talking anyway.

“It was just another patrol. I think I remember hearing a woman scream. Yes - she was yelling about this guy stealing her purse. I went to go help.” His breathing quickens, remembering what happened next. “I dropped down beside her and she turned around and smiled at me. Then something hit me over the back of the head…”

“You’re hurt?” Tony says, hand automatically running across the back of Peter’s head.

“Not really. They didn’t hit me that hard. But then the woman stabbed me with a needle…” Peter ghosts a hand over his neck. 

“They drugged you. Of course they did,” Tony says.

“Next time I woke up, I couldn’t – I couldn’t –” Peter’s breathing picks up again. He realizes he’s shaking violently. “Why did they do that? Why did she – why didn’t she just take my mask off? I would’ve preferred - _why_?!” His voice breaks, and he discovers that he can cry more after all.

“I don’t know, Kid. But I’m going to find out.” Tony’s voice is a little shaky too. “I’ll find them, Pete, I swear.”

Peter’s not sure what good that will do. It’s not like he can file a police report against whoever was behind this. Not without revealing that he’s Spider-Man. That’s the only thing he’s got going for him right now: no one knows who he is. He doesn’t think he could bear all his classmates knowing that Peter Parker got raped. Just the thought makes him shudder.

“Hey. Hey, it’s okay.” Tony grabs the blanket that’s draped across the back of the couch and pulls it down over them. Somewhere along the way, Peter lost the blankets from his bed. He huddles into the new blanket gratefully, curling one hand into the blanket and leaving the other clenched in Tony’s shirt.

“I couldn’t go to school today,” he whispers into Tony’s shirt. “I told Aunt May I was sick. I know I shouldn’t lie to her, but –”

Tony runs a hand up and down Peter’s back. “Kiddo, it’s fine. She’d understand.”

“Maybe,” Peter mutters. He doesn’t want to find out. He’s quiet for a long moment, then glances up at Tony. Tony’s not looking at him; he’s staring at the wall, expression tight in a way that Peter’s not sure how to parse. He’s so exhausted that he can barely keep his eyes open.

But there’s a thought spinning around his mind. It’s been there since he scrambled off that bed and leaped out the window. 

“They broke my suit,” he says, testing the waters. “They broke KAREN.”

“I can fix her,” Tony says, very gently.

Peter swallows and confesses, “I’m not – I don’t wanna be Spider-Man. Not right now.” And then he holds his breath, because it _feels_ a lot like quitting but honestly the thought of putting on the suit right now makes him feel hot and cold at the same time. 

But all that happens is that Tony’s arms tighten, and Tony says, “Then don’t.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Boss, Peter just crawled through the window in the living room on your floor.”

The name ‘Peter’ is the only thing that really catches Tony’s attention. His head pops up and he blurts out, “What’s he doing?!” without much regard for what he’s doing. In the next second, he jumps and swears as the flame of the blowtorch gets a bit too close to his hands for comfort.

“He’s walking over to your couch and curling up on it,” FRIDAY answers, ignoring Tony’s cursing. “He’s pulled the blanket over himself. He’s crying.” Her voice grows quieter. “He’s crying a lot.”

Shit. Tony switches off the blowtorch and gets up, covering his work with a spare tarp to keep dust out. He originally planned to spend all night working on the latest upgrades to the Iron Man armor, but now that Peter is here those plans are officially off the table. He quickly hurries into the bathroom to wash the grease, oil and god knows what else off his hands, then rushes out to the elevator.

It’s been eight days since _that_ night, and Tony can tell that Peter is struggling to hold himself together. The kid has shown up at the tower after midnight every single night since and always ends up sleeping on Tony’s couch, not even in the guest room that was long ago designated as Peter’s. Although, Tony’s not actually sure Peter is even sleeping that much. He’s pretty sure Peter is having a lot of nightmares.

Not that Tony can blame him. Spider-Man’s so-called sex video was the talk of New York for about twenty-fours straight. Peter hasn’t said as much, but Tony is positive that it’s all any of the students at Midtown School of Science and Technology could talk about. General consensus is split on whether Spider-Man is a slut or awesome, but the idea of the video being a rape hasn’t even been flouted.

In all honesty, the stress is starting to get to Tony too. He wants to help… he wants to _fix_ this… and he knows all too well that he can’t. This isn’t something that he can snap his fingers and make go away. Peter hasn’t even been out as Spider-Man since that night. When he comes to the tower, he’s always wearing black clothing and a black balaclava ski mask over his face. Never the suit.

And forget patrolling. Two days ago, Tony decided to test the waters. The mere mention of patrolling as Spider-Man made Peter flinch and go pale. If that’s not a clear sign to back off, Tony doesn’t know what is. 

He steps out of the elevator and immediately hears the distinct sound of someone trying to cry quietly. It’s heartbreaking to listen to, and Tony has to take a moment to steady himself before he can approach. He’s the only person who really knows what happened. Peter needs him to be strong. Peter needs to be able to lean on Tony right now. Ergo, Tony has to keep it together.

“Hey Pete,” he says as gently as possible. “You okay?”

“No,” comes the shaky whisper.

There’s no room on the couch, so Tony perches on the coffee table. “Wanna tell me what happened?”

Peter doesn’t say anything for several seconds, before finally confessing in a whisper, “I punched Flash.”

Coming from anyone else, that wouldn’t be alarming. Coming from Peter? Tony frowns. “Why? I mean, I am 100% sure that the dick deserved it considering how he treated you… but that’s not like you.”

“He came up behind me and grabbed my shoulder,” Peter explains in a wobbly voice. “I didn’t – I just – I hit him before I even knew what I was doing. I didn’t mean to, I –” He starts crying again, too hard to talk this time.

Tony sighs and runs his hands through his hair, trying to think about how best to handle Peter’s overly developed sense of guilt. Finally, he says, “You didn’t mean to. It’s not great that it happened, but you didn’t do it on purpose. After something like that, it’s not surprising that you can’t handle someone coming up behind you to grab your shoulder. Frankly, Flash shouldn’t be doing that to you period.”

“But I _hit_ him,” Peter chokes out. 

“And you were wrong, and you know that,” Tony says. He’s not going to sit here and rake Peter over the coals for defending himself. From what little Peter has said on the subject before, that Flash kid gets away with _way_ too much. Peter doesn’t say or do anything for fear of a) unintentionally hurting Flash or b) giving away his identity by suddenly being able to fight back, but Tony’s had to keep himself from marching down to the school to deal with it himself. Only the knowledge that sometimes an adult’s interference can make things worse has stopped him… so far.

He leans forward and carefully peels back the edge of the blanket to look down at Peter’s tear-streaked, snotty face. The sight unleashes a wave of affection, guilt and anger all tangled up and so frigging strong that Tony can barely handle it. He knows Peter’s not coping well. Knows exactly what kinds of dark paths Peter could end up heading down because of it. Knows he doesn’t want Peter turning out like him.

“Pete… what would you think of talking to someone?” Tony says slowly, testing the words. 

Peter sniffs loudly and scrubs his sleeve across his face. “What do you mean? I talk to you.”

“Yeah, but anyone could tell you that I am no licensed therapist,” Tony says, amused at the very idea. 

“A therapist?” Peter tenses up. “I can’t – they’d know –”

“It’s okay,” Tony soothes before the kid can wind himself up into another panic attack. “I’ve been doing some research. A lot of research, actually. I think I found someone trustworthy. He has a fantastic reputation. Very good at what he does. Very discrete.”

“He?” Peter repeats.

Tony nods. “His name is Dr. Timothy Brooklet,” he says. He deliberately avoided looking at any female therapists. Peter is very uncomfortable around women now. He goes stiff as a board whenever Pepper is in the room, and almost climbed the wall the one time Tony’s P.A. walked in without knocking first. For this to work, it has to be someone that Peter is comfortable with and who he can open up to.

“Do you really think I need a therapist?” Peter says, very quietly, looking up at Tony with teary eyes.

And, okay, Tony has known this moment was coming. He’s been trying to gear himself up for it for the past several days. Just… the thought of actually _talking_ about it… everything in his body rebels against that. Especially now that he thinks he’s finally fully put those days behind him (after all, he’s got a whole slew of new trauma to deal with!). But he also thinks that Peter needs to hear this.

He stands up and moves over to the couch, poking at Peter’s legs until they shift to make room. Peter sits up, swinging his legs onto the floor, not quite leaning into Tony but almost. Contrary to everyone else, the kid has become a lot touchier with Tony. If they’re not touching in some way, Peter hovers around well inside his bubble of personal space. Tony doesn’t mind. How could he?

“Let me tell you a story,” Tony says, wrapping an arm around Peter’s shoulders. “I was younger than you when I went off to university for the first time. My father didn’t see fit to think about the potential issues of a thirteen-year-old being surrounded by a bunch of nineteen-year-olds. He just wanted me to get through MIT as fast as I could so I could… well, so I could be done.” He cuts off the ‘so I could actually make something of myself’ that almost slipped out. Peter doesn’t need to hear that.

“Thirteen is really young,” Peter says, eyebrows furrowing, and Tony nods.

“It is really young, though I didn’t know that at the time. It was… a lot,” he admits. “I was a pretty sheltered kid. But I was happy to go. I thought it would be an interesting challenge.” He smiles wryly, shaking his head. Maria was worried about it, he remembers now, and she was right to be. “The problem was that I didn’t know much about a lot of things I really needed to know a lot about. Like sex.”

Peter stills. “Sex?”

“Yeah. I was thirteen and horny for the first time in my life, and I was surrounded by a bunch of people who were very interested in a famous kid with lots of money.” Tony has to fight to keep his voice even and not let the bitterness seep through. Rhodey, Dummy and JARVIS are the only good things to come out of that time. And while Tony wouldn’t change anything because of that, it’s still not right or fair.

But then, life never is.

“Oh,” Peter breathes, and the way he says it tells Tony that Peter finally grasps where this is going. His kid is just too smart sometimes.

Tony nods, closing his eyes as the memory washes over him again. “Two of them in particular, I wish I’d never met. Tiberius Stone and Sunset Baine. Stone was just an asshole in the end. He used me for my money and my father’s connections. In retrospect, he was pretty clear about not caring about me. I was just too dumb to see it at the time. I wanted to fit in.”

“That’s not dumb!” Peter says instantly. “Of course you did. Anyone would.” He sounds so fierce that Tony can’t help smiling and ruffling his hair.

“Well… let’s agree to disagree on that. Sunset, on the other hand, was playing the long game. She was twenty-three and beautiful and knew exactly how to use those charms to bend me around her finger. We… we slept together a few times,” Tony says.

Peter’s head whips around. “But you were thirteen.”

“I was.”

“That’s…” Peter stops.

“Statutory rape,” Tony says with a single nod. “Rhodey was _furious_ when he found out. I had to stop him from going completely off the rails. As it was, he ended up confronting her and telling her that if she touched me again, he’d kill her. Sunset didn’t care. She had what she wanted by that point. I was a dumb kid who thought she really cared, and it turned out all she wanted was access to some secrets about Stark Industries… which I stupidly gave to her.”

Peter’s frowning intensely. “That’s not stupid. You thought she cared.”

“It was stupid, but I appreciate you saying otherwise. Either way…” Tony sighs. “I never talked to anyone about what happened. Couldn’t bring myself to. And it fucked me up, Peter. It really did. It was years before I could trust anyone except for Rhodey, and even to this day I still have a lot of trust issues. I always, _always_ assume people are using me for something.”

Which actually, has a lot to do with more than just Sunset. It’s been a pattern repeated numerous times over the years, and ironically Tony is usually right about people trying to use him. But that’s not what Peter needs to hear right now. Just like he doesn’t need to know that it took Tony years to grasp that what Sunset did was rape, because thirteen-year-old Tony Stark had been desperate and grateful for the attention Sunset lavished on him. At first, anyway.

“So… you’re saying I should go talk to the therapist so I don’t get more fucked up,” Peter says. 

“Exactly.”

Peter’s quiet for a moment, contemplating this. “Do I have to?”

“No,” Tony says honestly. “No one will force you to go. But I think it would be a really good idea. This kind of thing… it doesn’t just go away. It can linger and fester in ways you don’t even realize until it’s twenty years down the road and you’re drinking whiskey every night just to drown out the bad thoughts.”

“What about my identity?” Peter says quietly, fiddling with a stray thread on the couch. 

“There’s doctor-patient confidentiality, but I can talk to Brooklet first. See if he’d be willing to sign an extra N.D.A on top of it,” Tony says. “I can’t 100% guarantee nothing would happen. But I can make the odds of it really tiny.”

Peter sighs, dropping his gaze to look at the floor. He looks so young in that moment – too young to be dealing with something like _this_ – and it makes Tony’s heart ache for him. He hates himself for not doing more to protect Peter from the worst of the world. 

“Can I think about it?” Peter asks finally.

Tony lets out a breath, relieved Peter isn’t turning the idea down flat, and nods. “Of course. You should look up Brooklet too. See what you think of him. Read some reviews. Just because I think he sounds good doesn’t mean much, and you should have a say in who you go see if you do decide to go see someone.”

“Okay,” Peter says, nodding. “Hey Tony?”

“What?” 

“That Sunset girl. Is she still around?”

“No. She died a few years ago,” Tony says, surprised by the question. He wasn’t exactly sorry to get the news. “She was in a car crash.” 

“Oh, too bad. Now there’s someone I wouldn’t have minded punching,” Peter says, a small smile crossing his face.

“Peter!” Tony exclaims, shocked, and then can’t help laughing. Peter laughs too, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes: it’s a sight Tony’s missed.


	3. Chapter 3

There’s something wrong with Peter. The knowledge weighs heavily on May’s soul as she trudges back to the nurse’s desk. Her feet throb and her lower back aches, but that’s pretty par for the course these days. No one ever said being a nurse would be easy, but, even though the hours are painfully long, it’s one of the few jobs she could get that, paired with her late husband’s life insurance, actually pays well enough to support a middle-aged woman and a teenaged boy in New York.

“Long shift?” Rob asks, glancing over as May rounds the counter and sinks down onto one of the rickety little chairs. He’s just coming on shift, and May pities him for that. She has the feeling it’s going to be one of those days.

“You don’t know the half of it. We’ve had three code blues, a code red, and six code browns,” she says with a sigh, leaning forward and bracing her elbows on her knees. Her back feels a little better for the stretch, but nothing will truly help until she’s at home, on the couch, with her legs up.

Rob makes a face. “You’re not filling me with hope here, May.”

“My apologies. The shift has been filled with unicorn farts and the laughter of children,” May deadpans, and Rob laughs as he gets up. He absently pats her back on the way by and quickly disappears off down the hall to do his rounds. 

May straightens up, rubbing at the back of her neck, and eyes the clock. It _finally_ flips over to 11am. She gets up and heads for the breakroom – on the far side of the floor, of course, because the people who build hospitals never take a nurse’s aching feet into consideration – and grabs her jacket and her purse. She learned a long time ago that lingering after a shift is an open invitation for an emergency to happen.

She emerges into the beginnings of the lunchtime rush. It’s surprisingly cold even though the sun is shining, and she pulls her jacket up around her neck as she bows her head and starts walking towards the subway. Today, it’s easy to leave behind the thoughts of her patients because she has something even more important to dwell on. Her nephew and his slow descent into… 

Well, May’s not sure and that’s part of the problem. She can pinpoint the night that Peter’s behavior changed so dramatically, but no matter how hard she thinks she can’t figure out _why_. Peter’s always been a bright, well-adjusted boy, despite the deaths of his parents and of his uncle. For everything that’s happened to him, he’s done amazingly. So, May hasn’t really worried too much when he started pulling away from her in the past year. He’s a teenager, and she knows it happens.

But this… this is on a whole new level entirely. And all May can say about the whole situation is thank god for Tony Stark, because at least Peter actually talks to Stark. It’s frustrating that May’s been shut out, but she can appreciate that Peter needs a good, strong male role model. Against all odds, Stark seems to be that for Peter. So it makes sense that Peter has turned to Stark right now, when something is clearly bothering him.

That doesn’t stop her from worrying, or from feeling a little jealous, though she does what she can to curb the latter. She just wants to know what’s wrong. She wants to know how to help. She wants to protect Peter. She wants to do right by him, the way she swore she would to Ben. 

Sometimes May stands back to look at her life and wonders how her life got to this point. When she was a teenager, she never imagined she would be a fifty-four-year-old single mother to her late husband’s brother’s son. She doesn’t regret the choices she’s made; she’s _never_ regretted keeping Peter for even a single second, but… it’s just not where she thought she’d be.

She’s going to talk to Peter, she decides. It’s been three weeks since his behavior changed so drastically. She’s tried before, but he always clams up and keeps mumbling that everything is fine. But, and maybe this is just wishful thinking on her part, he seems to be getting a little better lately. This morning, he was actually home and even patted her arm on his way out of the apartment to school. She goes over the proverbial conversation in her head the whole way home.

“Peter, I’m home!” she calls, unlocking the door and pushing it open. As she flips the hall light on, she realize that she doesn’t even know if Peter is there. He’s been spending so much time at Stark’s lately.

“In here, Aunt May,” Peter replies, and she finds herself inordinately pleased to hear his voice. She sets her bag down and slides her shoes and socks off with a groan of relief, then pads bare foot around the corner and into the living room.

Tony Stark blinks at her. “Good morning.”

“You’re not Peter,” May says dumbly, and then adds, “It’s not. Good or morning, at least to me. Is that wine?” She makes a beeline for the glass sitting in front of the chair and grabs it, sinking down into the chair with another groan. Hands down one of the best parts of her job is getting to put her feet up at the end of a long day.

“I’m right here,” says Peter, creeping out of the kitchen. “Tony brought the wine. He thought you might need it.”

May pauses right before she takes a sip of the wine, because there's something about the way that came out that makes her think something's much more wrong than she realized. She eyes the two of them as Peter comes to sit right beside Stark. Peter leans into Stark, and Stark puts a hand on Peter's shoulder. Peter's pale and practically shaking in a way that makes May want to gather him close in a warm hug, but she refrains. Because she senses that this is her one moment to find out what's been going on, and she _needs_ to know.

"What's going on?" May asks.

Peter opens his mouth and then closes it without saying anything.

"Do you want me to tell her?" Stark asks, and May stifles the small flash of hurt at the confirmation that Stark knows what's going on already.

"No, I can," Peter says, very quietly. "Aunt May... I'm Spider-Man."

It's not as surprising as it should've been. While she's never outright wondered whether her nephew is Spider-Man, May can't help but have noticed the physical changes that have overcome him in the last year. She's a nurse for god's sake; she would be a pretty shitty one if she couldn't see that much. She attributed it, wrongly she knows now, to Peter finally hitting a growth spurt that brought him out of that awkward phase. Spider-Man is capable of incredible feats of strength and ability. She stares at Peter for a long moment in shocked silence.

His frequent absences. The downswing in his grades. How tired he seems to be, no matter how much he tells her he's resting. His bruises and cuts and even the occasional broken bone, all of which Peter claimed was from bullies or accidents. No wonder he didn't want her to go down to the school to complain. This even explains his sudden internship with Tony Stark. May's eyes dart over to Stark, who winces slightly but meets her gaze steadily enough. 

"I see," May says, attempting to keep her voice even. "Why are you telling me this now?" It hurts to know that he didn't tell her before, but even she can tell that now's not the time to go into that.

Peter looks down at his lap. "Do you, um, remember that video that came out about a month ago? The one where..." His voice falters.

"The sex tape?" May says thoughtlessly, before realizing that it wasn't just a random person beneath that costume. It was her nephew. Her sixteen-year-old nephew. She sits straight up, horror griping her. She reads the truth from Stark's face before Peter says it out loud.

"I didn't want that," Peter whispers. "I was - um - I was -" He can't bring himself to say the word, but May's brain fills in the gap.

Raped.

Her nephew was raped.

"Oh, Peter," May breathes, setting her glass down. She stands up and then hesitates, because every other time she's tried to touch Peter during the last few weeks, he's flinched or scuttled away. At least now she finally understands why, even if a part of her wishes that she didn't.

But Peter jumps off the couch and launches himself into her arms, gripping her so tightly that May's sure she'll have bruises later. Not that she cares. She wraps her arms around him and holds him tightly as he breaks down crying, her heart aching for him. This is never a scenario that she prepared herself for, and she's not sure how to handle it. All her training has fled her mind. All she can do is stand there and hug Peter and stroke his hair.

"I'm sorry," Peter sobs into her shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Aunt May."

"Honey, you don't have anything to be sorry for. Hey." May pulls back slightly, just enough so that she can cup his face and look at him. "Baby, I'm not happy that you've been doing something so dangerous... but I am _so_ proud of you. Spider-Man has helped so many people. He's changed the lives of so many... and saved so many..." May's voice breaks. "And you... oh, Baby. I'm sorry. This never should've happened to you." She hugs him again, rocking him back and forth. 

"I've been doing what I can to figure out who is behind this," Stark says quietly. "We can't involve the authorities for... well, for obvious reasons. But once I find out who did this, I'll make sure they pay tenfold." His eyes flash with rage, and May shoots him a meaningful look over Peter's head. That's something she wants to discuss in detail, but not here where Peter can hear it.

"Thank you. I appreciate that," May says. 

Peter draws back, pulling out of her arms. "I'll be right back," he says, slipping down the hall. A moment later, May hears the bathroom door closed. She sinks down onto the couch, knees suddenly weak as the full impact of everything she's learned in the past twenty minutes hits her full force.

Stark reaches over, putting his hand over May's. She thinks she surprises them both when she turns her hand over, gripping his with all her strength.

"I just can't believe this," she whispers. "Poor Peter."

"He's been struggling. He wasn't sure if he was going to tell you or not. I told him that he should," Stark admits. "I thought... it was really hard on him, keeping everything from you. He was trying to protect you."

"He's just a kid. That should be my job, not his." May blinks hard as her eyes burn with tears. "How did you find out?"

"I'd seen information about Spider-Man on the news. It really wasn't that hard. Though... I have to admit it threw me for a loop when I found out just how young he was. I've... made a lot of mistakes." Stark sighs and runs his free hand through his hair. "Some of those mistakes, I've made with Peter. I'll tell you everything... but really, I want you to know that I've tried my best to keep him safe. I built him a better suit than the sweatpants and sweatshirt he was wearing before. I've given him training. I made sure he had back-up. I..." Stark shakes his head. "I never thought..."

"How could you?" May says, swallowing hard. "How could anyone think... he's just a kid," she says again.

"I don't think anyone else realizes that," Stark says softly. "I've analyzed every frame of that tape multiple times over... I truly think it was about attention. It's very likely that the people behind it don't even think of it as a rape."

May shudders at hearing the word spoken out loud. "You said you're close to figuring it out?"

"I'm getting there. Not fast enough, but..." Stark sighs. "Please don't be mad at Peter. I know he kept this a secret from you, but it wasn't out of malice or because he felt he couldn't trust you. He -"

May holds up a hand. "I get it. That's a conversation for me and Peter to have... and we will. Just... not now. I need to wrap my head around this first." She spies the wine glass and grabs it, taking a healthy gulp. It's sweet and sharp taste helps to focus her head a bit, but not as much as she would have liked. She drains the whole glass and sets it down on the table, belatedly realizing her hand is shaking.

"I understand. And I want you to know that anything you need, just ask. I've already found Peter a therapist. I suggested he talk to you first, but yeah... if you're okay with it, he'll start attending sessions tomorrow. I can get you in too, if you want," Stark says, trying so desperately to be helpful. 

"Sure," May says, not even sure what she's agreeing to. She'll find out the details later.

"And I'm building Peter a new suit," Stark adds. "A better one. A stronger one. In case..."

"In case what? He won't be Spider-Man again," May says, recoiling from the thought.

"Aunt May, you can't stop me."

They both jump, because neither one of them heard Peter approaching. He stands in the doorway, pale but determined, hands clenched, looking so young that it absolutely shatters May's heart. 

"Peter, you don't have to," she starts.

"I know. But I am Spider-Man, no matter what. Maybe not right now... but eventually. I have to be," Peter says, looking between them. "I _have_ to."

May glances at Stark, but he drops his gaze. That right there tells her that he agrees with Peter and just doesn't want to admit it yet. She bites her lip uncertainly, then whispers, "But Peter..."

"It's like that time you got hurt at the hospital," Peter says quietly. "You didn't want to go back, but you had to. Because you're a nurse, and it's what you do." He moves closer and sits, squeezing in between them. "Please don't try to stop me. This is something I have to do."

Her eyes fill with tears, but she finds she can't argue against that. Her poor, brave nephew, who is stronger than most people can even fathom. "Alright, sweetheart. We can talk about it later. We'll all figure it out together," she whispers, resting her free hand on Peter's arm. She's still got a grip on Stark's hand, and she squeezes it. Stark finally looks at her, then puts his free hand on Peter's other arm. They hug Peter between them.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](https://tsuki-chibi.tumblr.com/).


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